


when will i feel this (as vivid as it truly is)

by staticpetrichor



Series: MCU prompts [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Disassociation, Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Soft Dad Tony, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, a bitch isnt v nice to peter in this one :(, i.e. i have a panic attack over the day of the week and peter gets punished for it, the self projection is STRONG in this one, why isnt that a tag yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticpetrichor/pseuds/staticpetrichor
Summary: There’s something living inside of Peter’s chest. It travels behind his lungs, dips down his spine. Knots itself behind his collarbone and catches in his throat. It makes his head ache, his heart race, makes everything in his stomach turn leaden.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: MCU prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608514
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	when will i feel this (as vivid as it truly is)

There’s something living inside of Peter’s chest. It travels behind his lungs, dips down his spine. Knots itself behind his collarbone and catches in his throat. It makes his head ache, his heart race, makes everything in his stomach turn leaden. 

He knows it’s just anxiety. Knows all of this can be summed up by one cutting little word. 

He just doesn’t know how to make it _stop._

Maybe the problem is that it doesn’t hurt all the time. If it did, maybe he would be a little more desperate to find some cure. No, it only hits late at night or when he’s alone, or when he thinks a little too much and a little turns to a lot. 

Honestly, it only happens when he’s certain he’s fine. 

Like when he’s swinging around and the wind hits a certain way and with it the knowledge that he’s _never going to be able to protect all these people, can’t even protect those he loves, can’t even help himself, what is he doing, who in the fuck does he think he is._

So, he stops. And he sits on the closest rooftop and lets the panic wash over him. It won’t last too long, will drop back to a murmur in the back of Peter’s mind, so faint he can pretend it doesn’t exist.

His arms loop around his knees and Peter waits for the air to get easier to breathe. It will. It has to. It always does.

_He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t._

⁂

There’s a familiar thrum. A sound reminiscent of flashing red and gold, lazy smirks, and a kind of comfort that Peter definitely doesn’t deserve right now. 

A hum, a click, and then-

“Getting cold up here, Underoos.” 

He blinks, notices how the sun has dipped below the skyline, how the air has picked up that distinctly mid-spring sort of chill. He isn’t sure where the last hour went. How it could vanish in front of open eyes. And there it is. Yet another day gone, irreversibly and unchangeably lost to him. 

_Wasted._

Tony sits beside him with a groan and Peter prepares for some quip about not being as young as he used to be, waits for the painful reminder that time is one thing he can never save anyone from. 

It doesn’t come. 

As if Tony could sense that a joke like that would be his undoing. And he hates himself for that, for making the people he loves feel like they have to walk on eggshells around him, like they have to watch what they say because he’s so fucking fragile.

But it’s fine. Because he’s fine. Or he will be in just a minute. Because these episodes always pass quickly. 

Tony’s shoulder brushes his own and the contact is so sudden, so real and warm and _human_ , that Peter sighs. A huff of breath through his nose that somehow contains the weight of the world. Or maybe just the fears and anxieties of a sixteen-year-old boy. 

Peter’s head tilts, settles on Tony’s leather-clad shoulder, and everything steadies. The thoughts are nothing more than a whisper and his heart no longer hammers against his ribs like a thrashing caged animal. The rest of the world is still fuzzy and uncertain but here and now Peter finally _breathes._

“Sorry.” It’s a safe word. A true word too. He doesn’t mean to do this anymore than a hurricane means to destroy people’s homes, their lives. He doesn’t mean to do this but unlike some natural disaster, he cares about the collateral damage he leaves behind. He cares so fucking much.

“No apologies needed, kid.” 

“But-”

“No ‘buts’ either.”

“I should’ve told you.” Peter was getting good at that, texting Tony when he felt the panic coming on. But today was so sudden, and besides, how was it fair to make Mr. Stark have to hold him together every single time? When was the older man going to realize that it didn’t stop, that he’d be picking up the pieces of a broken person over and over again? 

That wasn’t fair. 

Tony hums softly, “Yeah, you should’ve.” 

There’s no judgment, no punishment to the words, and yet Peter finds himself scrambling to explain, jerking away from Tony and fisting his hands against his legs, “It was really, _really_ sudden and like I didn’t, didn’t even realize at first. And it’s just, it’s not _fair.”_

Tony quirks a brow at that even as understanding lights up warm brown eyes, “What isn’t fair?”

“That you have to keep trying to fix me!” It comes out harshly, a sentence long brewing in his stomach and now barreling through his mouth. 

“Ah,” Tony holds up a hand, cutting off the word-vomit he must have known Peter was about to spout, “Let me stop you right there, kid. I’m not, never will be for that matter, trying to ‘fix you’ because you aren’t some toy. You’re a human being, who has been through a lot more than most, and even if you hadn’t, just being a human is _fucking hard_ , Peter. You need help to get through it, everyone does.”

Tony turns, wraps a gentle arm around shaking shoulders, “Just don’t mistake that need for brokenness, because you are so many things and broken will never be one of them.”

There’s something living in Peter’s chest. And some days it burns and aches and lashes against its confines. And some days it disappears, utterly smothered by an embrace that smells like motor oil and fancy aftershaves. An embrace that glows a faint blue and forever promises _help_.

**Author's Note:**

> basically a self indulgent lil vent piece I decided to post bc its 4 am and why the fuck shouldn't i
> 
> title is from touch by sleeping at last!
> 
> big thank u to anyone who reads this y'all are the best <3


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